Nov 30 seasoned / entries

It was the first day of fall a few minutes ago. I'd like to say it's unique that fall is my favorite, but the issue is there are only four seasons, and a lot of people hate winter.

A lot of people love fall. So I'm joining them in a frenzy of chatter over golden leaves, hot almond lattes, pumpkin bread, apple cider. Joining the commentary of transitions, of things slowly dying in order to be reborn. Cycles. Shorter days. Where the earth is now ... relative to the sun. How do I ever say something different?

scene break

I don't know what to write about. I don't know how to feel about running. On Friday I had a lot I needed to release. I found myself swallowed by this external energy of talking to people all week long. I normally don't like running after work and yet here I was. It was cool and dark storms clouds were figuring out what to do. I felt good. I hadn't run in a few days, maybe only 15 miles that week, so my legs were fresh. First mile, 7:58. Second mile, 7:40-something. I wanted to go slower but that's when things got tricky. A perfect 10-miler would have me gliding in the 8:20 range, yet here I was buckling under 8 again. For who knows what. I feel good enough, I say. Enough enough

9/26

Today I threw my mountain bike down the hill and broke shit

10/1

Ideas. I want to tell stories. I want to do yoga and meditate and breathe and not be liquidating. I ran this morning to the Golden Gate Bridge. The sky was purple and smoky. The air was so full. Mornings...some sort of vibrant energy is always here.

10/something (for class)

I enter the examination room. It feels sparse, despite the numerous things they can do to you here. The floor is oddly covered in mossy green carpet. There are two medical beds made of plush, grey plastic, with white sheets draped over them that reach the floor. There is a pillow on one side, indicating which way to lay. Navy blue resistance bands hook onto random pieces of furniture. A black shelf is half-filled with plastic cartons and an electronic stim machine with red chords. I review myself in the floor length mirror and sit in a black office chair. A large west-facing window looks out to the mountains, but the blinds are shut.

I scroll through dozens of work emails while I wait for Mark. There is a photo of him right above me—a picture of him running a marathon in 1991, time 2:11. Fast.

So I know what he looks like, minus 26 years. He is thin with thick calves and already has a bald head. Maybe by choice. He is black. He is also, apparently, a once-professional runner. I wonder if he'll even want to make time for someone who would never make the Olympic cut-off time. Who is simply here because her left quad is really fucking tight.

While I'm in the midst of responding to an email Mark enters. He's shorter than I pictured, maybe 5'6, and still as thin as he was in 1991. He's head to toe in Nike running gear, a nice perk for being a sports doctor: breathable uniform. He introduces himself by saying, "Hello Miss Laura, my name is Mark." He has a thick accent. South African.

He gestures to one of the medical beds. "Please, lie down on your back with your legs out."

I have already removed my shoes and socks. As I make my way over to the bed, he is already fishing out the orthotic in my left sneaker, placing it up to the light like an x-ray.

I need Taos right now. This transition to fall really did something. One day it was no longer summer, where heat competes against prolonged lightness. Where I move my body more often than not between bent trees. Where I wake to the sun and watch it set as I curl into bed, a companion that refuses to leave my side. Now it's fall and now it's winter. I'm already counting down the days till spring, well before our first true snow

11/26

Split canyons wide sky red rock & red chiles

We climbed to the edge to seeThe red crest of earthA wall, underground. Oh desert hollowness!!I pull you in from the big sky, this landscape filled with our love

11/30

I am sitting at this Jeep dealership getting a 45 minute oil change that has taken over 1 and a half hours. They sell sweatshirts here, the coffee is free, and I am starving.

Hi there, I’m Laura. This is a space for my writings and a hodge-podge reflection of my mind. My hope is that no two posts are alike and that I can inspire myself - and others - to expose the undercurrents and small corners of life through the power of the written word.